A Podcast by Godwin on Juan's Birthday

In a full gallop of silk and hide, the horses ran behind him. Each muscle defined in its stationary movement. I can’t tell through my monitor if what I see are prints or photos, but they’re mainly images of horses and one wistful photo of Marilyn Monroe. The sepia art matches the monochromatic tan of the curtains and walls, culminating in an intentionally cozy vibe. I imagine the room smells like the caramel-colored smoke of a pipe, but Godwin has kids, so I assume his home is smoke-free.

I met Godwin through the

Soaring Twenties

Social Club, which is a virtual place I refer to in reality as “the online writers’ club I’m a member of,” and today I am a guest on his recently launched podcast called Human Conversations.

The photo of Marilyn catches my eye, and I ask Godwin if he’s a fan. In his molasses voice, all smooth and thick and slow, he laughs and explains that he’s a fan but not a BIG fan because there’s only one photo of her on his wall. This cracks me up, tho if you listen to the episode, it sounds as if the whole experience grips me giddy. My energy level seems spastic, yet it’s also normal for me too. I’m the sort of Only Child who can go from satisfyingly solo and pensive to manically charged and social. But seriously, his explanation that one photo of Marilyn doesn’t make him a “big” fan is legit funny, considering that Marilyn Monroe has bred fanatics like abandoned pantries breed fruit flies.

I can’t recall the specificity of his words, but Godwin said something about being captivated by beauty, thus the reason behind a wall decorated with horses and Marilyn; both are beautiful. He states these truths about himself with such comfortable self-assurance. Beauty may be the leader, but it is not the prey, as Godwin follows instead of chases.

The podcast episode was recorded and released this past Sunday, January 21^st, which would’ve been Juan’s 47^th birthday. I can’t shake Juan most days, but especially in the weeks buffering the anniversary of his birth and death. With the passing of each January, the age gap widens further between us, a mocking chasm creating an excruciating distance between now and then. This year, Juan is both two years younger than me and nine years younger than me; always 40, even when 47.

Like Godwin, Juan followed beauty. And was beautiful himself. Where most people can occasionally look ugly, Juan could – at his worst - look fatigued. Maybe it was less that Juan followed beauty and more that he saw it everywhere and in everyone. He looked beyond the first layer and dove deep into people, searching for the light.

At the mall one night, as we left a store about which the only thing I recall is the layout, he said to me, “That woman was so beautiful.”

“The pregnant one?”

“Yea, her. She was just so lovely.”

In all honesty, I can’t recall the actual words we passed between us because unless we are constantly recording our conversations, most of the details evaporate immediately, or worse than forgetting, they get twisted and warped as they are resurrected by remembering until conversations become the regenerated living dead, their bodies pumped with nonconsensual electricity until their stochastic limbs flail about in a desperate plea for death.

“Shit, go back and tell her that!”

“Really?” He seemed unsure, as if boundaries would be crossed by complimenting a pregnant woman. Yet Juan was known for his compliments and attentiveness. He could spy the one thing about you that no one else saw and wrap it up in gilded skin as a way to say, “I see you.” But for some reason, he hesitated with this woman.

“You can compliment a woman without it being sexual or flirty. Just let her know.”

We walked back to the store, and she seemed surprised to see us. Her shoulders were as limp as her hair, and her face was as puffy as her ankles, both lost in the sea of amniotic swelling. And yet, Juan saw vibrancy and beauty in this woman. He approached her tentatively. He could be as mild and shy as he could be acidic and aloof, but this was Juan fully gentle.

“I just wanted to come back to tell you that when we walked out of here, I told my best friend how beautiful I thought you were, and she said I should just come back and tell you that. So here I am, and you are beautiful.”

The contour of her body changed, corners became curves and ice became bathwater, she smiled as she inhaled, exhaling with the most sincere “Thank you” I’d heard in a while.

Listening to Godwin talk about beauty and his dreams of owning horses reminded me of Juan. Not that Juan wanted horses, and not that he didn’t, but I know he’d be able to set them free as easily as tame them, all while finding beauty in their need to be wild.

Me and Juan ten years ago